Life Support
The first time it happened was a little past one in the morning. He had just returned to his penthouse in Metropolis, surprisingly early from an easy night of patrolling, with only a few minor bruises. Once behind closed doors, the Green Arrow had removed his green leather, and emerged from the green room as Oliver Queen, only covering himself in a pair of black sweat pants as he closed off the room and headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water before heading to bed for needed rest. He had an early flight to Gotham City in the morning for a meeting, followed by another flight that afternoon back to Star City.
Having only two sips from his glass before his attention was called to a demanding knock from his door, he questioned what the emergency was behind the door that he couldn't receive a phone call first for.
His brown eyes looked out the small peephole on his door, to see, probably the one person he wasn't expecting at that late hour. Her face was pale, her short blond hair looked disheveled, as she stood there, clad in a zip-up gray hoodie, and black sweat pants. Her green eyes seemed distant with a touch of fear as she brought her fist up and pounded on his door again. Every question that he could think of flew through his mind:
"What was wrong? Why was she here? Why wasn't she running to Clark? Where was Clark?"
He backed away from the door and unlocked the latch and pulled it open, "Chloe? Is everythi—"
She literally collided against him; her arm wrapping around his neck as she pulled him down to crush her lips against his. Her other arm clung around his waist pulling him roughly against her body while her lips continued to tackle his, and he dropped his glass of water at her first contact. The breaking glass didn't even pause her actions.
At first, his mind was in complete shock, and looking back on it, he justifies kissing her back at that moment was due to the famous "Oliver Queen kissing auto-pilot" mode he usually ran on. The initial shock screeched to a halt when she pried his lips open and began a fencing tournament with their tongues, and he nearly chocked on hers in surprise.
He didn't understand where any of this was coming from. Sure, he had numerous women throw themselves at him—but this was Chloe! The JL's Watchtower, Clark Kent (Superman's) best friend, Lois Lane's favorite cousin!
Sure, he could willingly admit Chloe was a beautiful girl, and he would be lying if he said he never pictured her naked (at some point every man thinks of every girl naked—it's natural and unstoppable). But he had never had any thoughts or need to act on it.
And as far as he knew, she hadn't been attracted to him at all—or she at least never led any indication that she was. Their banter was witty—a little flirtatious, but they both flirted with everyone, so he never took it seriously.
His hands clutched her shoulders and he was about to push her away and ask what the hell was wrong with her, when her hand trailed down his side and slipped beneath his sweat pants. His breath hitched, and he drew in air from her mouth while she continued to kiss him. Her fingers wrapped around his length, and Oliver found himself completely stunned and unaware at what point during her attack, he had become hard without noticing.
Her fingers flexed him in the palm of her hand and then eased their grip. Oliver could only groan into her mouth. One of his hands moved up from her shoulders, rubbing her neck before entangling itself in her blond tresses. His other hand had treaded down her side, snaking around her back and up and underneath her hoodie. His hand glided against her smooth skin and he shivered at how cold she was. Running his fingers up the bare skin of her back, he realized she wasn't wearing anything underneath the hoodie, and he had a hunch he shouldn't expect anything underneath her sweat pants either.
She removed her hands from the inside of his pants without break the kiss, and before he could acknowledge what she meant by doing so, she unzipped her hoodie, rolling the jacket off her shoulders as she pushed her bare chest flush against his.
He jerked back slightly at the contact, both because of how cold the temperature of her skin was, and the smooth caress of the contact that furthered his excitement. He brought both of his hands down to her lower back, pressing her even more against him before he lowered them to cup her buttocks.
Her fingers ensnared the waistband of his sweat pants, tugging them down to his mid-thigh, causing him to pull away from her lips, "Chloe—"
She cut him off by grinding her hips against his while she closed her swollen lips over his once more.
He was getting the picture now—she wasn't there to talk.
Still grabbing her ass, he hoisted her up, and she instantly wrapped her legs around his waist, making sure he was trapped. With one arm, he shoved everything that was on the counter, the blender, the bowl of fruit, the important documents, all of them were flung off in his haste, and if they didn't crash into the wall, they shattered on the hard floor.
He slammed her down on the counter, flat on her back. Tearing his lips from hers, he slid his fingers down the sides of her waist till he hooked the waistband of her pants and tore them off of her, sending them flying to the other side of the room, leaving her completely bare and nude before him, like he had suspected she would be.
Oliver gulped, suddenly feeling thirsty once more. Bending down, he pressed his lips to her flat stomach, and she bucked her hips against his in response. "Oliver… " He had never heard his name used in that tone before. Women had wanted him, begged him, many times. But the way Chloe had moaned his name was with urgency, as if she would break if she didn't have him soon.
Disregarding his pants completely, he abandoned his judgment and grasped her thighs, spreading her. His hand dipped between her legs, forgetting the doubt and guilt his subconscious was trying to push to the surface of his mind.
She pulled out of his reach before he could touch her. Sitting up on the counter, she slid to the edge and wrapped her legs around his waist again. "No foreplay," she commanded, guiding him into her before he could protest.
Despite the fact that she had jumped him the second he opened the door, he knew there was no way she was fully prepared for him. And he wasn't surprised when she could only get half of him in on her own. He didn't move, instead he swallowed the air he had unconsciously been holding. Though her skin was cold, on the inside, Chloe was pure heat. And she knocked the air out of him.
Chloe arched her hips in response, trying to get him to enter her fully and he grasped her hips tightly to hold her still. But she wouldn't have it. She crashed her hips forward, angling them perfectly, and using her arms to hold her up behind her, she thrust herself forward and down onto him.
Oliver choked in response, and before he could fully enjoy being sheaved inside her, Chloe was rolling her hips, and pulling his waist with her legs that remained clamped around him.
Annoyed that she wasn't being patient, Oliver finally gave in, and pulled out of her, only to thrust back in, hard.
She threw her head back in response, her mouth open in the perfect shape of his favorite vowel. He pulled back and jutted himself back in, receiving the same look on her face. And he couldn't help but grin.
She whimpered, arching her hips to take him in again, circling her arms around his back as she raked her nails down across his skin. His breathing hitched when she reached his lower back, one of his more sensitive areas on his body.
Her moves became more eager to meet his, and they both increased their speed, crashing into each other, neither one completely sated.
Her back arched off the counter again, curving like she was a bending bow, and Oliver the archer. And he took this moment to grab her body, pulling her up, he held her in his arms for a second before he threw her against the kitchen wall, ignoring the glass under him that was cutting into his feet as he pounded into her.
Her arms wrapped around his neck and she buried her face between his neck and shoulder as she welcomed the invasion. "Yes," she purred into his ear. "God, Oliver... Yes!"
As he fought to keep their rhythm, their bodies ignited as if on fire, they became slick with sweat as his body slid against hers, in hers. Her breathing was unsteady, and for a moment he thought he was hurting her, and he slowed in his actions.
But she pushed off the wall with her back, causing them both to fall to the floor without removing himself from her. She rolled them so she was on top, kneeling with each knee on either side of him, and she grinded her self down on him.
Oliver's hips jolted up to meet hers, drowning in the pleasure of her swallowing him as he fought the pain of the glass shards on the floor cutting into his back. She met him thrust for thrust, leaving his own breathing to become uneven.
Her nails dug into the abs on his stomach as she picked up her pace, her eyes closed tightly as she impelled herself up and down on him as if he was some kind of alter, and she was worshipping him. Her fingers clenched into his abdomen while her head rolls back and her green eyes flutter behind her eyelids and eyelashes as he felt her body clenching.
And Oliver felt himself nearly lose control. "No, Chloe," Oliver murmured, snagging his arm around her back as he rolled them so he was on top once more. "Not yet," he mumbled, driving into her, "Not yet."
She cried out, from the glass digging into her flesh and the thrill of him pounding into her. She wrapped herself around him once more, as if no matter what, they couldn't be close enough, and he swore the floor shook beneath them every time he shielded himself once more within her.
He noticed now, as her breasts rise and fall between them with each shallow intake of breath, that her skin seemed more colored, more natural, as if she were glowing and he leaned down and captured her lips with his, and although he couldn't pinpoint what she tasted like, he was surprised at how much she was like breathing for the first time. When your lungs burn and you inhale—Chloe felt like that first breath, tasted like it. And it was then that Oliver felt everything between them, their skin, their bodies, their souls—explode like the Sun did before the horizon every morning.
He collapsed beside her as to not crush her, and he realizes now, as they lay sweaty and gasping for breath among shards of broken glass, and scattered documents, that they have just had Earth-shattering sex; on his kitchen counter, against the wall, and all over the floor—with his door open.
And then he passed out.
Dedicated to Stacy (Soapfan101, Stayceem, Stacymcgrew), and sarcastic_fina (Tarafina).
Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville, nor do I claim to own any other characters therefore owned by DC comics.